Darcy looked up. “Should you be out of bed, Elizabeth? You still do not look well.” “I cannot lie down all day: I wish to walk. Will you come with me?” It was weather that could get Elizabeth skipping, the air cool and soft on her face, leaf buds unfolding on the trees. Yet she walked quite slowly, her arm through his. He thought back and realised it must be a fortnight since she had seemed really well. Was it his imagination that her cheeks had lost fullness? She seemed to suffer an unfamiliar debility. This, with the duskiness beneath her eyes, led him to a sudden thought, so painful that fear was reflected in his expression. He stopped and looked down at her. “You are not fearful for me?” she asked. “For a moment, yes, I was.” She dropped his arm and turned towards him. “Fitzwilliam, dear, I am not ill. Just a little tired. Can you not guess?” Unconsciously she was smoothing the faultless lie of his sleeve, touching the cuff of his shirt. “I am increasing, my dear.”
What do You think about A Private Performance (2005)?
